The Capture of the Earl of Glencrae (28 page)

“I take it you have?”

“Several times.” She met his eyes, confidence in hers. “But I always get back on.”

He bit his tongue against any salacious riposte his libido might think to make.

A moment passed, then brazenly she said, “You should be very glad you ended with me instead.”

“Believe me”—he held her gaze—“despite having to go to London and fetch you myself, despite the ordeal of the pit at the Theatre Royal, I am, indeed, exceedingly thankful that it's you rather than either of your sisters riding into the highlands with me.”

Her eyes searched his. He'd meant every ambiguous word, and she saw it.

Suddenly, she grinned. “Have we walked enough?”

He glanced at the others, then nodded. “For now.”

“Good—because Ebony and I need to run.”

With that, she just went—streaked off, straight into a gallop.

Before Dominic had even thought, Hercules was thundering in her wake.

As he followed her down the road, admiring her seat, more specifically her heart-shaped arse as she leaned forward and urged the filly on, he wondered whether this was how his life henceforth would be—her leading and him chasing after her.

He assumed he would feel revolted by the thought.

Instead, he discovered he was smiling.

A
s arranged, the Cynster men of the current generation, and several males related by marriage, returned to St. Ives House to piece together the information they'd gleaned from the various grandes dames they'd managed to interview.

It was midmorning when Sligo shut the door behind Martin, the last to arrive. The others were all present, lounging about the room.

“So.” Martin sat in the vacant armchair facing Devil's desk; his face looked older, more drawn. “Do we have any clues?”

Devil nodded. “Several of the ladies reported seeing a gentleman they described as a friend of your family introduce Angelica to a very tall, very large, black-haired gentleman during the soiree. Said gentleman was leaning on a cane, but beyond that, his general description bears a striking similarity to that of our elusive laird.”

Michael Anstruther-Wetherby, perched on the wide windowsill to Devil's left, started. “You're not telling us the blackguard came into the heart of the ton and whisked Angelica off under everyone's noses?”

“No.” It was Vane who answered. “Despite the similarities, Lady Osbaldestone named the black-haired man as Viscount Debenham. I checked with Horatia, and a few minutes ago I spoke with Helena. All of them saw Angelica speaking with Debenham, and while all agree he's in general terms a good fit for the laird, he's definitely English and, most telling, has a bad limp—hence the cane. He's apparently had the injury since he first came up to town more than a decade ago. And, of course, they've all known him for that long, at least to nod to. His principal estate is Debenham Hall, outside Peterborough. None of the ladies could immediately supply his family and background beyond that, but they all know who he is.”

Lucifer leaned forward. “So he's not the laird. However, he does seem to be the last man any of the ladies saw Angelica with—I got the same description from Louise this morning.”

“Yes,
but,
” Demon said, “this morning I asked Mama—Horatia—if she'd noticed when Debenham left, and she was quite clear in her recollection that he was there, in the drawing room, chatting as calmly as you please, long after they'd realized Angelica had vanished.”

“I had some luck with Lady Osbaldestone and Helena in that regard—they both said Debenham left much later, with a friend.” Vane glanced at Devil. “Rothesay.”

Silence followed while they considered the possibilities.

Gabriel looked at Vane. “Who was the family friend who introduced Angelica to Debenham—do you know?”

“Horatia and Helena named him as Theodore Curtis,” Vane replied.

Gabriel and Lucifer exchanged glances. “We know him,” Lucifer said.

“Perhaps”—Gabriel looked at Devil—“Lucifer and I should pay a call on Curtis and see what we can learn, even if all it does is rule out Angelica's speaking with Debenham as being of any consequence.”

Devil slowly nodded, then glanced at Vane. “Vane and I will run Rothesay to ground and see what he can tell us of this very large viscount.” Looking at the others, he said, “Debenham's is the only name we have at present—if, as seems likely, all we accomplish is to rule him out, we'll need to look further.”

Breckenridge, leaning against the back of a sofa, said, “Jeremy, Michael, and I will keep searching, especially for any hint of a mysterious Scotsman being in town, and possibly around the Cavendish residence that night.”

Jeremy nodded. “The street-sweepers or one of the jarveys might have heard an accent, might have driven a fare to some address—who knows?”

Demon sighed. “I have to go to Newmarket to check on things—I'll be back later tomorrow.” He glanced around. “Don't do anything rash without me.”

A round of frustrated snorts answered him.

Devil pushed back from the desk. “Should anyone find anything, even the merest whiff of a scent, send word here.”

Nodding, the others rose, and headed, a herd of dissatisfied males, for the door.

Chapter Fourteen

B
ecause they reached Pitlochry so early, they had the inn's dining room to themselves. Their party sat together about a large rectangular table; given they were in the highlands, that raised no eyebrows.

Angelica wanted to avail herself of the opportunity the larger group posed. She waited while the inn's staff laid a substantial repast before them and withdrew, then held her plate for Dominic, on her right, to serve her slices of roast beef, and said, “As you all know, I intend assisting the earl to convince his mother, the countess, to return the goblet she's taken. To do that, I need to know more about her—for instance, how she spends her days. What she does, where in the castle she goes, where she doesn't. Who she visits, who visits her—that sort of thing.” Turning her head, she met Dominic's gaze. “If I don't know what to guard against, and what framework we have to work within, it'll be much more difficult to succeed.”

He held her gaze for a second, then nodded. “Ask away.”

She looked across the table at Brenda. “So how does the countess spend her days? Start in the morning.”

While the others served themselves, Brenda said, “She's rarely up before midmorning—usually closer to noon. She comes down to the great hall for meals and sits at the high table with the laird. After lunch, she goes to her sitting room—far as I know she spends most all of her day there. She embroiders a lot and sometimes plays an old clavichord. She calls for tea midafternoon—religious about that, she is, always has to have scones and a big teapot, very fussy about exactly how it all has to be on the tray. She's . . . well, finicky—about who can set foot in her rooms, what can be touched, and so on. She changes her gown for dinner, and afterward sits in the drawing room and embroiders, or has Elspeth read to her. Her ladyship calls Elspeth her maid-companion, but there's never been much companionship to it, if you take my meaning. Then about ten o'clock or so, her ladyship goes up to her bedchamber, and that's that, until the next day.” Brenda accepted the plate Jessup had piled with beef and vegetables for her.

Swallowing a mouthful, Angelica frowned. “She must go wandering the castle, or at least the keep, sometimes.”

But Brenda and all the others shook their heads.

“Her ladyship is rarely seen outside her sitting room during the day, or the drawing room of an evening,” Griswold said.

“She doesn't ride?” Angelica looked at Jessup.

“Never has to my knowledge.” Jessup glanced questioningly at Dominic.

Who shook his head. “I assume she could, but hasn't while she's been at the castle—I can't remember her ever having a horse. In fact, I can't remember ever seeing her in the stables.”

“What about visiting? She must drive out to visit other ladies in the district? Tenants? The sick?” When that elicited nothing more than head shakes, Angelica stared. “I can't believe she never sets foot outside the castle.”

“Och, but you asked about visiting,” Jessup said. “As to venturing forth, her ladyship goes to church every Sunday morning. I drive her and Elspeth in the carriage, there and back, never any stops or detours along the way. No visiting involved. And Scanlon mentioned that he's occasionally seen her walking the paths on the loch's shores. Sometimes with Elspeth, or the old steward McAdie, other times alone.”

“That's all?” Angelica could barely credit it, but they all agreed that the countess otherwise did not stir from the castle. “Well, then—what about visitors?”

“None that I know of.” Dominic looked at the others, but all shook their heads.

“Good Lord, she might as well be an anchoress.”

No one argued.

After several minutes of eating and thinking, she said, “I'm not as yet sure exactly how we'll convince the countess to do as we wish”—
to believe that I'm ruined and hand back the goblet
—“but whatever our eventual plan is, I'll need to know where in the castle and around it I might encounter her or be within her sight.” She glanced around the table. “Never having been to the castle, I need you to help me and think of all the possibilities. Where will I be safe, out of her sight, and where will I need to be on guard?”

Dominic shuffled several platters aside, then set the salt cellar and the mustard pot in the cleared space. Mulley retrieved the salt and mustard from another table and handed them to Dominic; he set them down to represent the four towers of the keep. Between them, the others gathered and arranged various condiment pots, then set cutlery fetched from a nearby sideboard to join the pots in the outer circle.

Angelica pointed. “Those pots are towers in the castle wall, and that's the gatehouse, and those four represent the towers of the keep?”

Dominic nodded. “This”—he placed a fingertip on the salt cellar representing the keep tower most central to the castle as a whole—“is the north tower in which Mirabelle has her rooms. Her bedchamber is on the upper floor, her sitting room below it. From her bedchamber she has a decent view over much of the bailey, an excellent view of the gatehouse, and a reasonable view of a section of the castle walls. However, she rarely looks out that way—the curtains on that side are often left closed. She prefers the view on the other side, over the loch to the forests. As for her sitting room, where, as Brenda said, Mirabelle spends most of her day, that only has windows to the gardens.”

“So,” Angelica said, “she's unlikely to see me if I'm in the bailey, or at the gatehouse, or up on the battlements . . .” She looked at him. “I'm assuming you have battlements, walkways along the top of the castle walls?”

The others all smiled.

He kept his lips straight and nodded. “The castle wall has battlements all the way around.”

“What about the keep? Does it have battlements that she might go up to and so get a wider view?”

Mulley leaned forward. “The keep towers and the keep itself have battlements all around, but I was up there recently, checking the doors were locked against our scamps, and I'd take an oath the door at the top of the north tower hasn't been opened in years.”

“All right. Let's assume she isn't likely to suddenly decide to go up there.” Angelica considered the structure, the layout. “From what you've said, outside the keep, other than there”—she pointed to the area overlooked by the countess's sitting room—“I should be safe.”

Dominic waved at the area she'd indicated, the space between the north and east towers. “That's the danger area—the gardens. The kitchen garden is at the back, against the castle wall. I can't imagine Mirabelle would ever go there, and I'm not even sure she can see into it from her sitting room. The rose garden circles the east tower—where my rooms are—and the northwestern half of that is clearly visible from her sitting room. All the rest is the Italian garden, which stretches between the towers and can be reached from the drawing room via the terrace that runs between the bases of the towers. On the rare occasions when she decides to get some air, Mirabelle walks in the Italian garden, and all of that garden is visible from her sitting room.”

Angelica nodded. “So no strolling the gardens for me, not unless I want her to see me.” Elbows on the table, chin propped in her hands, she studied the model. “So tell me about inside.”

Together with Mulley, Griswold, and Brenda, Dominic figuratively walked her through the main rooms on the ground floor—the foyer, the great hall, the long galleries running around it, the drawing room, his study, the library, the breakfast parlor, the huge kitchens, the armory—and then through the towers. His rooms were in the east tower, those of the boys in the west. The south tower was the province of the senior household staff, several of whom she'd yet to meet. The floor above the gallery and reception rooms, kitchens and armory, circling the vault of the great hall, contained guest chambers and, above the kitchens and armory, more accommodations for household staff.

“In addition,” Mulley said, “there are two lower levels, but even in the towers, those rooms are used for storage. I've never seen her ladyship venture down there.”

Dominic caught Angelica's eye. “In winter we can be snowed in for months.”

She nodded. She stared at their “castle,” picturing it in her mind and placing Mirabelle within it.

They'd finished their meals. The serving girls came up, hovering, wanting to clear the table.

Feeling Dominic's gaze on her face, Angelica glanced up, read his impatience to get on, and nodded. “Yes, all right.” She eased her chair back.

The girls swooped and commenced clearing. Dominic rose, drew out Angelica's chair, then went to pay their host. Underneath his impatience he was pleased, not just by her focus on gathering the information necessary for her to help him reclaim the goblet but also by the way she interacted with his staff. She might not have been born to any clan, yet she'd absorbed the dynamics and had already gained the acceptance and support of those with him. Admittedly, she was working to assist him and they would die for him, but they were all—even Jessup, a hard man to win over—starting to view her with not a little pride.

His people would have accepted whoever he had chosen as his countess, but that they were already viewing her as worthy of the role, and more, as theirs, was a testament to her true mettle, to the summation of her skills.

Fronting the counter at the rear of the room, he smiled at the innkeeper. “What do I owe you?”

Rising from the table, Angelica had joined the others. Jessup and Thomas strode out to fetch the horses; with Mulley, Brenda, and Griswold, she walked more slowly to the door. Halting before it, she glanced at them. “One last question. How much control does the countess exert over the household?” When they looked at her uncertainly, she elaborated, “Does she decide the menus, oversee the household accounts, interview and select new staff?”

“Oh, no, miss, m'lady.” Brenda appeared scandalized by the thought. “She might've done afore I came to the castle, but in the five years I've been there, she and Mrs. Mack, they've barely exchanged a word.”

“Aye,” Mulley said. “Mrs. Mack runs the household, and John Erskine, he's steward, and the rest of us take care of anything else that needs doing. No need for the countess to bestir herself, and I can't remember that she ever has.”

“Nor me,” Griswold said.

Angelica got the distinct impression they were all perfectly happy with the countess's aloofness. “So she, the countess, has no real idea what goes on in her own household. No, wait, what about her maid-companion?”

“Elspeth?” Brenda looked at Angelica as if she'd missed some vital point. “Elspeth's one of us—clan. Poor girl has to make her way, but she'd never tell her ladyship anything she wasn't asked about.”

“And not even then,” Griswold muttered. More loudly he stated, “Her ladyship is not the sort to inspire devotion, much less confidences.”

Angelica shook her head. “This is sounding all too easy, and I know it won't be . . . what about the boys? The earl's wards?” Little boys were fonts of information, which usually spilled from them with no discretion at all. “The countess might not involve herself with their day-to-day activities, might not approve of them, might even actively dislike them, but out of duty, if for no other reason, she must take an interest in their welfare . . . at least spend a little time with them?” In her experience of small boys, a little time was all it took.

“No.” The word came from behind and above; Dominic had rejoined them.

She swiveled to face him.

He met her eyes. “My mother has no contact with the boys, and that's the way I, and the two of them, prefer it.”

She studied his eyes, then nodded. Turning, she followed the others out of the door.

Stopping on the step to pull on her gloves, she said to Dominic, who'd halted by her shoulder, “Despite living in a crowded castle surrounded by an entire highland clan, your mother is living in total seclusion. And that's going to make our task much easier.”

“How so?”

“Because if she'd had any friends, any confidantes at all, we would have had to convince them—or at least convince her enough for her to convince them—as well. Your mother doesn't sound entirely rational, so convincing her will be easier if she has no one else's shrewdness or insights to fall back on, to use as a guide in judging me ruined.”

He didn't reply, just set his hand to the back of her waist and guided her to where Ebony was dancing. Thomas held the filly's bridle. Reaching the horse, Angelica turned, raised her hands, and let Dominic close his about her waist and lift her to her saddle.

She loved the instant of being effortlessly lifted, then gently, so gently, set down; her lips curved with the simple pleasure.

When he didn't immediately release her, she looked at him, saw the deadly serious expression in his eyes and arched a brow.

“Mirabelle may not be rational on certain subjects, but she's not lacking in wits. She's clever, clearly cunning, and in her own fashion intelligent—fooling her for long enough for her to deem herself convinced won't necessarily be easy.”

Angelica looked into his eyes, then picked up her reins. “You'll have to tell me all you can about her before we reach the castle.”

His lips tightened, but he nodded, then turned to Hercules.

Jessup, who'd been talking with a group of riders just dismounting, came striding back. “The road's clear from here to Dalwhinnie. With luck and hard riding, we'll make Kingussie like you wanted.”

“Good.” Dominic planted his boot in Hercules's stirrup and swung himself up to the chestnut's broad back. “Let's get going.”

Angelica brought Ebony alongside Hercules and they walked out of the yard. When Dominic paused, waiting for the others to form up behind, she asked, “Why Kingussie?”